Allison
by Shadow Syndrome
Summary: Allison Lilestone, coyly docile and deeply disturbed, is one of many permanent residents at Norfolk Lunatic Asylum, and has become the subject of one doctor's feverishly curious and ultimately obsessive interest.


from the memoirs of Doctor Jacob Rigby

Dated: August 13, 1876

"Into the hole again, we hurry along our way…Into a once-glorious garden, now seeped in dark decay." Of the girl's outpourings, I recall her very last with most clarity, as it means more to me than all the rest of her maniacal quotes. In hindsight, I recognize my patient, Allison, as one who's equal does not exist and never will. She languished in my care for the better part of a decade. And while considering all my study, I'm sure I did not truly know the poor girl until the moment before I failed her, much as one who is unaware of the darkness until the hour just before the dawn. I wonder if, given the chance to relive these last ten years knowing then what I do now, I would have admitted her in the first place.

In the review of notes and observations one can find mostly sorrow. I feel I owe it to her, however, to search for meaning, anything to prove she did not suffer in vain.

-November 9, 1866.

My new patient, Allison Lillestone, has arrived. She suffers from despondency. In otherwise reasonable health for an adolescent, she has been catatonic for almost a year. Strangely, her face is relatively fair and does not posses the characteristic sag and apathy of someone nearly comatose.

The fourteen-year-old has been discharged from Rutledge as the overseer there has deemed her "too docile" to remain among the population of his institution. From the girl's dossier I've ascertained that she has been consistently infirm following the loss of her parents and has been in the care of several physicians at various hospitals around Norfolk since the accident.

Her inanimate form is dressed in a certain energy, a sense of vitality better suited to an average, care-free schoolgirl far from a coma. I believe it's suggestive of convalescence and I look forward to curing her.

I should mention the one possession that arrived with Allison. A stuffed rabbit was tucked snugly in the side of her mattress. Basically white, the plaything is deeply stained with soot and smells of smoke. It has survived a fire.

-December 1, 1866.

The girl is immune to stimuli. Cold plasters, bloodletting, pokes with sharp objects, all beget nothing. Clapping blocks and sudden shouting have no effect. Taking into account the patient's history, I was confident in receiving some response when bringing flame near to her. She gives away nothing, at least at not at my insistence.

Many of the staff is rather amused by the girl's condition. There is gossip that she feels nothing, not even fear. This rumor is pitiless and simply untrue. She suffers lately from fever. I often enter the room to find her lying in bed yet extremely short of breath, her dark red hair matted around her face, heavy with sweat. During these episodes her usual, vapid gaze gives way to tormented grimaces and a furrowing of the brow which confesses worry and distress. I usually end the terrible spells with a dose of laudanum.

-January 18, 1867.

She is past the worst of her fever and has returned to the silent trance, staring wide-eyed at whatever is in front of her and focusing intently on everything and nothing. So docile and placid in appearance, she exists this way uninterrupted, except by meals force-fed to her by nurses. On several occasions they have had to find her pulse in order to convince themselves that she has not passed away in that still state.

I've a new electric apparatus which I'll begin experimenting with tomorrow. I'm eager to observe it's affect on her.

-March 4, 1867.

There's been a vague change in the girl. Slightly different from her apathetic disposition, Allison has become rather pose-able. She will sit upright should I or a nurse set her in this way. Noting the new capability, I am having her spend time each day at a rather cheery spot in the garden, usually unattended. Occasionally I will sit with her and I've taken to reading aloud newspaper articles regarding her parents and the accident. Despite my efforts, she'll do no more than occupy space; therefore, I cannot count her new pliability as progress.

Increasingly, I find my self distracted by her eyes, which are the uncommon color of just-cut grass, the severed blades bleeding dark moisture and oozing life. Perhaps entering a less-than-professional realm, I cannot help but appreciate how finelythey compliment her pale face and scarlet hair, since such a striking shade suits so few.

Although the girl yields no hint of being _here_, I suspect she somehow knows that _I_ am here, and is aware of my presence. When caught up in her eyes, a habit which I ought to refrain from, she stares a thousand miles past and through me towards nothing particular, yet the glare betrays an interior presence. Placing one's eyes in sync with her gaze, it is much like peering through a window into an empty house and finding, curiously, that it has been decorated for a party. She will blink and the house is vacant once more.

-April 1, 1867.

As in previous years, April Fools Day has delivered to Norfolk Lunatic Asylum a seemingly celebratory atmosphere. I observe this day with appreciation for fools everywhere, whose existence necessitates institutions around the world, and without whom I would be unemployed.

An odd incident worth noting occurred today. Placing Allison in the courtyard as usual around noon, I departed briefly to use the facilities. Upon returning I found the girl as I had left her, except for the feline. A cat, mangy thing with bones visible through a gray coat mottled with black stripes, sat on her thighs. I immediately made to shoo the creature which was barring its teeth and suggesting an imminent attack, but paused when I realized that the animal was in fact grinning. Obviously a pretense offered by my imagination, I was nonetheless perplexed at the time. What was surely not a facade was Allison giving the stray a single nod of her head, a gesture of acknowledgement, before it ran off in a slinky, feline trot. Following the incident, Allison wore that expression of great worry which she had retired since the fevers early during her treatment here. What's important is that she has succeeded in responding to the world. However, having communicated only with a feral cat when I have been available for months, one must question whether this speaks well or ill of the girl's recovery.

Later, as I was searching for any marks the animal might have made, a nurse attempted to remove the girl's stuffed hare from the room with the intention of cleaning the toy, and Allison exploded in sorrow, flooding the room with hysterical sobs and tears. I was able to staunch the flow only by returning the rabbit to her side.

-September 16, 1874.

I walked in on three orderlies harassing Allison. The trio was having quite a good time poking her much too hard with a pencil, hoping to get a wince or a cringe from the girl. They are lucky to have received only a mild scolding. I could easily arrange for them to share cells with the incurables for a night. The next time.

In the corridor outside, I lectured the orderlies. After dismissing the three imbeciles, Allison spoke! She said something, a single sentence from inside the room. I asked her to repeat it.

"Allison? You did say something, yes?" I tried with no luck, "Allison, tell me about pain."

She would neither recite her recent words nor give any clue that she had done anything but lie motionless all day. During my conversation outside her room, I'm reasonably sure she said, "Only the foolish equate pain with success."

-September 17, 1874.

I completed another new potion for the girl, the first dose of which I intended to administer myself. When I entered the girl's room, several nurses were busy forcing breakfast down her throat, making it an ideal time for me to introduce medication. Uncorking the phial of elixir, I greeted all present parties, "Hello ladies. Good morning, Allison."

"No, Doctor. She doesn't prefer it," a nurse said cheerfully. From the nightstand the woman lifted a sheet of paper and held it for me to take. Drawn on the paper were three playing cards, Jacks of hearts, all scarily sinister. Grasping the document, I read below the mean-looking cards a single word, a name. Spotting a pencil clenched tightly in the girl's right hand and recognizing it for the one used by the orderlies to assault her yesterday, I was pleased. "Very well. Good morning, _Alice_."

I've left some pencils (not too sharp) beside her bed, and some paper. While certainly committed to providing treatment, I daresay that I've lately begun to think of the girl as a fixture, not destined for recovery. However, this development is encouraging; perhaps she will regain her senses after all.

-October 2, 1874.

While in the staff lounge this morning preparing tea, I was interrupted by a flustered Nurse B. Anxiously, she told of "trouble with the girl," explaining that she didn't "know what to do about them". I made haste across the ward to Alice's room. Dashing through the open doorway, Nurse B in tow, I first heard, then saw Alice sitting upright and sobbing pitifully, helplessly. I wanted to console her, not as a doctor to a patient with a syringe of laudanum, but as a brother to a sister with an embrace, a father to a daughter with a gentle kiss. Before I could attend to her grief I noticed the source. Two of the three orderlies who had previously used the girl as a pin cushion were standing on opposite sides of the bed, throwing her stuffed rabbit back and forth. They cackled haughtily with pride at their game as the hare spun limply, traveling in arches above it's hysterical owner. Coming so quickly from the lounge galley, I forgot to release the teapot I had been handling; I placed it on a dresser near the door and sent Nurse B to summon the director of the asylum.

"Ahem!" the two brutish orderlies dropped the rabbit as they turned to face me, the one closest to the door sporting a what-in-the-hell-do-you-want expression across his broad countenance. I wouldn't give him a chance to broach the question. I was exasperated. I didn't know what I was going to do; except that I was going to do it right then and there, and they would remember it forever. I stepped toward them but before reaching the closest one a lithe, slender figure rose creepily behind him, silhouetted in the powerful morning sunshine that invaded the room through the long window. Standing on the mattress, as though expecting a ride, Alice mounted the man from the rear, securing her legs around his middle. With lucid grace she brought her delicate lips beside his face as though she had a secret to whisper. So quick that the man had absolutely no time to react she bit into his blubbery cheek, rending flesh from bone, squirting blood from cartilage as her teeth squeezed it like a slice of orange. He made no effort to defend himself, but simply shrieked as he fell to his knees, her still chewing on his face. Her victim's mate came around the bed en route to Alice and raised his fist, preparing a blow to remove the girl. I prevented the offensive with extreme prejudice, enough to render him unconscious.

"Doctor Rigby!" Nurse B looked up at me from the floor where she knelt next to a crimson mass in the shape of a man, holding his face and writhing in a puddle of fluid that matched his color. A portion of his cheek was severely mangled, and some pieces the girl had removed altogether, salivary glands likely eviscerated. "He needs the emergency ward," I said. Nurse B nodded in agreement.

"Dr. Rigby!?" director Hindry filled the doorway. He looked as desperate for an immediate explanation as a cardiac patient in need of his nitrates during a heart attack. I didn't know just were to begin. Fumbling for words, I thought to indicate the girl by pointing at her bed…and realized she was not there. For whatever reason, I assumed she would be on her bed, and that it was the only logical place for her to be. The adrenaline was causing me to focus on the present very narrowly, as though I was wearing blinders.

"DR. RIGBY!" from his position in the doorway director Hindry was looking wide-eyed over my shoulder. I spun around in time to see Alice casually push the tall glass pane outward from the windowsill, swinging it open. Preventing her from taking any further action, I closed my arms around her torso and pulled the girl to her mattress, as I did so she stared unwaveringly at the window. Several nurses and an orderly assisted me although my patient hardly resisted. As we eased her onto the bed, her face shiny and wet, her hair thick with blood, she slipped back into her customary abstraction, open eyes taking in the finer details of the ceiling as she stared upward. Blood ran off her and soaked into the white sheets creating dire stains. The white uniforms worn by nearly all in the room were soiled crimson to some degree. The puddle surrounding the man whose face resembled hamburger had grown into a shallow pool. Director Hindry's opulent form still occupied the doorway, but he was now leaning on the frame. His mouth was slightly agape as he met my eyes, "doc…Doctor Rigby" I allowed a chuckle to myself. I knew the blood belonged entirely to the one orderly, but realized just how ghastly and horrid and absolutely disastrous the scene must have looked to an observer who was absent for the action. Alice had even smeared blood on the window curtains.

Later, in the evening, when the room had been cleansed of all signs of trouble and a mood of normalcy returned, I examined Alice to confirm she had sustained no injuries in the little, epic scuffle. She had rested in her typical catatonia since the incident, neither uttering a sound nor twitching a muscle. After years of assuming that she could not hear me, I've lately been addressing her as I do patients who converse regularly.

"Goodnight, Alice." I said, moving out the door.

"How many times must I tell you? I only take tea with friends."

Taken completely by surprise, I stopped abruptly and pivoted around, and while doing so I noticed the teapot I'd left on the dresser by the door earlier. Nobody had thought to return it to the galley.

"What? What was that?" It was no use. She retreated to her usual state and remained there for some time.

What she intended to do with the opportunity presented by the open window and the three story divide between herself and the ground is anybody's guess. Considering the ease with which she let me steer her away and back to bed, I rather think she simply desired to let in the morning air. Just the same, I've had a lock and crossbar installed on the window.

-October 4, 1874.

Another drawing, again completed in the late night, or very early morning it seems. This one, a sketch of a clearing set deep in forest featured long, solid mushrooms looming over lesser flora and was completed with profound attention to detail. Hardly any light penetrated the high canopy of the woods, a night in the midst of day. Fuzzy moss clothed and clung to sturdy masses of rock, pulverized at spots by robust tree roots, sprawled about like plump, wooden tentacles. Nearly all of the thick vegetation sported spiky thorns, which made serrated edges around the discs of the fungi. Either the trees in this woodland were remarkably tiny, or the mushrooms unbelievably immense. The locality depicted in the drawing suggested something highly unpleasant in ample supply; a clearly dangerous place ruled by darkness that I would not want to pass through.

Reviewing the artwork, I asked where the copse existed. I did not expect any elaboration.

"The Fungiferous Forest" she explained.

Although this brings me no further to reckoning the whereabouts of the clearing, I am pleased with what constitutes our first cogent dialogue.

-October 11, 1874.

When I arrived this morning with the girl's medication, which she normally takes with breakfast, I discovered her quarters vacant. I caught up with her in the lavatory and found her soaking in the bath. Her vapid gaze contrasted sharply with the bubbly, cloudlike foam which hid everything below the neck and made her expressionless face seem even more prominent and out of place. In fact, she was too out of place. I didn't like that she should be left alone amid so much water.

Nurse B entered from the adjoining room, folded towels stacked high in her arms. She set the white cloth on a wooden bench near the tub and nearly succeeded in concealing how startled she was when she noticed me standing near the exit, tube of elixir in hand. "Oh! 'Morning, Dr. Rigby. Didn't see you there," she said, following my line of sight to the girl in the bath.

I tried to talk away her look of disapproval, "She needs her medicine. It's important she receives it on schedule." I wiggled the phial of potion between my fingers. "What's all this?"

"Poor thing caught cold during the night" she explained, "It'll help clear her chest."

"Right" I agreed.

"Terrible way to spend one's birthday isn't it, Doctor?"

Having referenced the girl's date of birth innumerable times on medical documents and other paperwork, I suddenly found it odd to never have considered the passing of the day each year. But then, I've never given a single thought in that regard to any patient. How Nurse B manages to track these things I haven't worked out.

I hold myself largely responsible for the development of Alice's small but raspy cough. She's been spending more time on the grounds as I hope that the increased outdoor stimulation offered by the gardens will encourage further communication. I should have noticed that Alice has recently (finally) outgrown the jacket she was provided with upon her arrival; actually, it's fallen to pieces from wear. She's been left defenseless to the elements, fair game for the wicked autumn chills for several hours each day. Having no family or visitors, the asylum will see to providing a replacement.

Not long ago, while perusing the wares of a friend's shop he attempted to pique my interest in some winter cloaks. I wasn't attracted to the garments at the time as I have no need for such things but, as it happened, I spent a prolonged moment admiring a heavy, green article with a handsome hood. I think I shall pay my friend a visit and purchase the item as soon as time permits.

-October 13, 1874.

Alice conquered her cold and just in time to resume our outdoor sessions, which I believe are extremely valuable to her recovery. Furthermore, I've bought her a cloak so she will not freeze herself into further illness. Truth be told, since purchasing the item yesterday I have been rather excited to present it. Around noon, I collected Alice for a meeting in the garden.

She will not walk or be led anywhere, but will remain standing stationary if set this way, which I did just before reaching the breezeway connecting the small ward to the world. The thick woolen cloak should keep her quite warm, and I suppose makes for an ideal birthday gift. Feeling like a decorator hanging curtains, I draped the garment over her shoulders and enclosed her slim figure in the heavy fabric. Although having logged eight years at Norfolk, her rather adolescent appearance belies this fact. The cloak was somewhat long, but she filled it out well enough. I arranged the hood over her hair, which Nurse B kept neatly trimmed to shoulder length, and became aware of how finely the vibrant, emerald garment complemented her eyes.

Outside, hoping to arouse her interest, I engaged in the review of outstanding things within her artwork. A new piece chronicles a tea party featuring an ugly man donning foppish, oversized clothing highlighted by a grotesquely large topper covering his head, as well as a white hare, strongly reminiscent of the girl's stuffed toy. Another illustration portrays a very large and severe woman armed with a tall staff crested with a gilded heart; a matching crown accents her head like a watchtower. Recently, Alice identified the woman as the "Red Queen" and recited a list of quite violent methods of revenge she'd like to exact on the royal. While she hasn't disclosed how she was wronged, simply viewing the monarch's portrait is enough to glean the cruelty and spite Alice associates with the Queen.

I paused to point out a wren flying overhead, to which she released a torrent of information pertaining to "snarks". According to Alice, the snark is an enormous creature that flies and hunts the atmosphere above forests and rock faces. She explained that some are "feathered with talons that snatch" while others "are furry with claws that scratch". All the listed varieties of snarks are perfectly harmless with the exception of the "boojum", which she explained to be a nasty creature which shall cause me to vanish "softly and suddenly" from the world if I ever meet one. Her creative flare is amazing and I must appreciate the undeniable talent in her madness.

-November 1, 1875.

Alice continues to mumble to herself, muttering through the night. "Eat me," and, "drink me" are especially strange.

-December 14, 1874

The tale of the boojum was the trickle that announced the coming flood. She confides in me completely, describing a fantastic other place in her head. It is a barely imaginable realm of terror, populated by all manner of nightmare creatures and machinations. Actually quite a happy place at one period of time, she tells of an evil queen drowning the land in a reign of chaos and bloodshed. She speaks also of her crusade against the queen's tyranny. The chronology she has invented for this wonder land is flawlessly assembled.

I found Alice mingling with a cat today. I entered the room to find her sleeping, and the thing gingerly licking her face. I threatened it with a book and the frenzied feline darted nimbly out along the sill of the open window. Unless I'm much mistaken, the mangy intruder was none other than the one who'd carried out the garden rendezvous with Alice several years ago. What jogged my memory more than anything else is the way he showed his extraordinarily large teeth, which truly give the impression that the animal is grinning. There was no reason for the window to be open, especially during this harsh season. The crossbar and lock are missing.

-December 19, 1874.

We hosted Superintendent Caryl for a tour of the premises yesterday. He nodded with phony interest and approved of the grounds and facilities with a detached, beauracratic manner, occasionally asking an irrelevant question about this or that. He did stop briefly in order to demonstrate to myself and several other physicians the 'proper' method of administering a mercury rub to a syphilitic patient, which he claimed to have perfected during his practice at Rutledge. When I casually mentioned Alice he expressed great interest in observing her. "Oh yes! Quite troubled subject, I'm told. Very intriguing, very disturbed" he bellowed through mouthfuls of ham sandwich during lunch. "'actually assaulted a relative of mine, an orderly here. Do you know him?" he asked, after a ferocious belch. That explained the mysterious circumstance of the orderly's continued employment. After the incident I was shocked that he was still working here.

Upon entering Alice's room, the superintendent paused in the doorway. He removed his tall stovepipe hat from atop his elephantine head, and gave Alice a histrionic, grandiose bow. It was absurd, I can think of no better way to describe the gesture. She was in a solid trance, the degree of which I had not seen in years. After assessing the situation he tried bloodletting, which produced no more results for him than it did for me eight years ago. Casually abandoning his project on my patient's arm, leaving the leakage for me to clean up, he focused intently on the girl's artwork, appearing upset by the renderings. The more he considered the drawings, the more distraught he became. After a few minutes he excused himself, and left without another word.

-August 2, 1875.

Superintendent Caryl visited Alice today. I found him alone with her, standing silent in front of her bed, twiddling the brim of his enormous hat in his fingers. For some reason I wanted to expel him from the room. He greeted me as though I had been working and it was actually him who had come upon me and interrupted.

"Hello, Doctor. I was just visiting with Mr. Hindry discussing this year's inspection. Your institution received very high marks." he said, sporting an insincere smile that greatly annoyed me. "Anyway, I thought you might join me for some tea." I didn't particularly fancy the proposition of an extended conversation with the ridiculously rotund, crude man and I could have fabricated an urgent task, but an unexplainable desire to remove him from the vicinity impelled me to accept.

"Thank you, I'd like that. I'll put on a kettle in the lounge" I aimed my hand at the exit, indicating the open door, anxious for him to begin moving toward it and away from Alice. I wasn't sure if he'd heard me, as the obscenely obese man had become focused intently on my patient once more.

"What's that!? tea?" he asked vaguely, as though it were some new medical procedure he wasn't familiar with, "some tea? I'm afraid I haven't the time." His stupor suddenly collapsed and, slipping back into reality, he spoke as though concluding a normal conversation between colleagues. "Thank you, but no. I must be going now. Good day, Dr. Rigby." He shook my hand, and favored Alice with another long, theatrical bow before leaving. I dislike the superintendent, and I find his company decidedly uncomfortable.

There's a devious quality about the man. I do not trust him.

-August 10, 1875.

There is a sly outrage afoot. Director Hindry has ordered a surgery to be performed on Alice. What's more, my knowledge of the situation was accidental, as I happened upon the sanctioning document in the filing room by chance. Someone is trying to subvert my authority over my patient, scheduling the procedure for this Friday when I planned to be out of the county. The director sympathizes with my position but professed that he is only acting on the instructions of Thomas Caryl, who plans to perform the operation himself. A trephination! According to Dr. Hindry, the superintendent aims to remedy the girl's mood swings and emotional instability with a "simple lobotomy". What mood swings? The whole affair is sour and wrong. I cannot let it happen.

-August 12, 1875.

I've sent a formal letter to the magistrate and he has agreed to grant me a private council this evening. I'll explain my case against the asylum for less than ethical practices and secure an injunction against the surgery.

-August 13, 1875.

The judge saw the logic in my argument, but the damn bureaucracy of the matter prevents him from accomplishing anything for at least another day.

"Don't worry" he assured me "I agree with your position. We'll have an even stronger case against the superintendent after he's completed the surgery." The idiot.

The procedure is taking place as I write. I'm not even allowed in the operating room! This is unprecedented at NLA. If any harm comes to Alice I don't know what I'll do.

I knew before it was over. I knew what had been done. Superintendent Caryl murdered her. I don't know why he did, or how I could let it happen, how anyone would let him do such a thing.

I and Nurse B had waited in the lounge of the surgery ward. Only under threat of dismissal did I accept the restriction from the operating room. There was no accident, no complication during the surgery despite what the multiple reports claim. We heard the elongated, shrill shriek echo sharply through the wide corridors before running out of energy. Proper anesthesia should have prevented the cry; the absence of a madman whilst having holes drilled into her skull surely would have spared the outburst as well.

"Into the hole again, we hurry along our way…Into a once-glorious garden, now seeped in dark decay." Her final words, spoken from the gurney as it wheeled squeakily into the room where she'd die in less than an hour, I believe were an appeal to rescue her from what she somehow knew lay ahead. Her plea fell on deaf ears.

The girl was tough. If anything, she left me armed with the truth: that it is never to late to better one's self, never impossible to seek redemption, even in hell; such as that land of wonder in her head.

Reflecting on time spent with her, this tenet I remember most about Allison…Alice, for short.

THANKS 

Thanks is due to American McGee. The dialogue _Into the hole again, we hurry along our way…Into a once glorious garden, now seeped in dark decay _is borrowed from his videogame, "American McGee's Alice".

Also, to Lewis Carrol, whose novels inspired this work. References to _snarks_ and the _boojum_ are borrowed from his stories.

This work is subject to copyright protection as of 2007

and may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the

express, written permission of the author.


End file.
